


Skin-deep

by Mika-chan (mikarin)



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, M/M, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikarin/pseuds/Mika-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine sometimes wished he had bruises.  Maybe then, someone would <strong><em>see</em></strong>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin-deep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://glee-angst-meme.livejournal.com/7446.html?thread=10336278#t10336278) prompt on the glee_angst_meme. CC welcomed.
> 
> _Italicized text_ = flashbacks

Abuse came in many forms.  The most recognized and one reflexively thought of being that of the physical kind.  It was not inherent to think how harmful constant berating and ridicule could be.  How, if repeated often enough, words could hurt just as much as being smacked or kicked.

Blaine sometimes wished he had bruises.

Maybe then, someone would **_see_**.

oOo

Blaine never talked about his parents.  He may mention a random uncle or aunt at times, but rarely did he ever speak of his home life.  No one really thought too much of it, too caught up in their own lives and well, Blaine was always smiling, singing, and jumping on random pieces of furniture.  If asking to go over his house to study caused Blaine's smile to become more strained or inquiring as to what his parents did for a living made him grow quieter for the remainder of the day, his friends preferred not knowing.  Blaine clearly didn't like talking about his parents and his friends respected that, would be there for him if he did ever want to talk about it.

But Blaine never talked about it.

oOo

Kurt wanted to know everything about Blaine especially now that they were boyfriends.  From what his morning routine consisted of (he set his alarm a full half hour before he really needed to get up, but would hit the snooze button repeatedly the entire thirty minutes).  What music he liked to listen to while he studied—did he listen to music while he studied (yes, and instrumental movie soundtracks)?  How he liked his steak cooked (medium, but he didn't like to eat too much red meat).  If he always lived in Ohio and was he always this charming? (Unfortunately, yes and he **_was_** gifted with many sweets as a child)?

The only topic Blaine would never breach was that of his parents.  Kurt knew from the onset that Blaine didn't like talking about them.  When they first began to hang out, he attempted to glean a little insight on them (because who wouldn't be curious to know who raised such an earnest and moral person like Blaine), but it wasn't worth it in the end if it meant Blaine avoiding him afterward.  Just finding out his parents were divorced had Blaine disappearing for several days.

But Kurt and Blaine were in a relationship now, and he’d like to think it was normal to want to know as much about your boyfriend’s life as possible and to share things about yourself you wouldn’t typically share with anyone else.

So, in between shy looks and dozens of kisses, they talked.  They talked a **_lot_** , loved learning new things about one another each and every day.  Blaine shared stories from his childhood including how he wanted to be a cowboy for the longest time until a horse bit his hand when he was feeding it and that was that.  He described what sports he used to play and how his love of music pretty much saved him during his terrible time at school pre-Dalton.  Kurt in turn related how he used to help his mom pick out her outfit for the day, how he tricked his father into letting him convert the basement into his bedroom, and how he knew that he wanted to be a fashion designer since he was six.

Most of Kurt’s stories involved one or both of his parents, but he supposed that was what happened when you were an only child and didn’t have too many friends to speak of.  He wasn’t intentionally trying to draw Blaine into talking about his family despite his curiosity.  Experience taught Kurt when to pry and when to let things just be.

So, when Blaine mentioned his mother several weeks into their relationship without any prompting, Kurt was elated.  They were studying in Kurt’s kitchen one afternoon, books spread across the table and Kurt was relating an amusing anecdote regarding his father, Finn and a wall-to-ceiling bookshelf Carole had purchased for their den.

“You should have seen them trying to anchor it to the wall, Blaine.”  Kurt’s smile was wide and he felt his insides flutter at the fond smile Blaine directed at him while he spoke.  “Finn’s tall, but even he has his limits.”

The tips of Blaine’s lips stretched a bit more before he looked down at his notebook for a moment.  When he raised his eyes again he said, “My mom had me replace one of those shelves in our library.  She said it was character building to have me do it by myself.”  Blaine looked off to the side not seeing how Kurt’s eyes widened at the mention of Janice Anderson and missed the pleased smile that spread across Kurt’s face soon after.  “I don’t think I felt so short in my life.”  Blaine released a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head once before turning his attention back to Kurt.  “And where were you during this entire episode, Mr. Hummel?”

Kurt tilted his head to the side with a grin.  “Supervising, of course.”

Blaine laughed, not surprised in the least by the answer, but amused all the same.  “Of course,” Blaine echoed.

oOo

The next time Janice Anderson came up in conversation it was when Blaine had to cancel their date to the county fair.

“I am so sorry, Kurt,” Blaine apologized profusely over the phone, voice full of regret.  “My mom thinks we’ve been spending too much time together over the weekends and is refusing to let me out of the house.  She says I need to study more after my last mark in US History."

Kurt frowned.  “Blaine, you got a ninety-three on that exam.  It was one of the highest grades in the class.”

“ ** _I_** know that,” Blaine said, frustration entering his voice.  “It’s just.  It’s never good enough with her.  I.  I’m really sorry, Kurt.”

Kurt sighed, sitting down on the edge of his mattress and trying not to sound too disappointed when he said, “Please stop apologizing, Blaine; it’s hardly your fault.”

“I really wanted to eat cotton candy with you,” Blaine lamented and Kurt didn’t need to see him to know he was sulking. “And share a funnel cake.”

Kurt laughed, removing his shoes before sliding up his mattress until he was leaning against his headboard.  “Maybe it’s a good thing your mom’s not letting you out.  I don’t think I could handle all those empty calories.”

"I'd throw a caramel apple in the mix.  That's a fruit."  Blaine's tone was back to a light timbre and Kurt smiled, not liking to hear him any other way.

"A sugar covered one," he pointed out wryly, but Blaine was not deterred.

"Yes, one of the many delicious delights on a stick."

Kurt laughed.  "You're such a dork sometimes.  What am I going to do with you?"

"Like me anyway," Blaine replied cheekily.  A beat of silence passed.  "I really am sorry for ruining the weekend."  Blaine's voice took on a somber tone once more.  "I'll make it up to you,” he said earnestly.  “Promise."

"It's fine, Blaine," Kurt assured him, "But I will hold you to that."

"You're the best."

Kurt huffed.  "You're only realizing this now?"

When Blaine laughed, the first during this entire conversation, Kurt mentally patted himself on the back.

"So, how long do you have on the phone before you're locked away in your tower?"

Blaine hummed.  "Ten minutes maybe."

Kurt smiled as he settled himself more comfortably on his bed and balanced his phone on his shoulder.  "Good.  Are you in your room?"

Blaine caught on reasonably quick if the rapid shuffling of feet and the sound of a door closing was any indication.

"Now I am," Blaine said slightly breathless.

Kurt hummed low in his throat, his voice dropping an octave as he asked, "What are you wearing?"

Later, still out of breath and lying completely boneless on his mattress, Kurt thought vaguely that fairs were overrated anyway.

oOo

Blaine gradually started opening up about his parents.  It was little things at first.  Like how his dad was a lawyer and his mom a philanthropist.  How his mother forced him to learn how to cook when he was eleven because she didn't want him to wind up like his father who was hopeless in the kitchen.  How his father left shortly after he came out, so it was just he and his mom at home.

When Blaine began speaking more freely of his home life, Kurt assumed it was because the other was beginning to trust him more, which made him extremely happy.  Unfortunately, none of what Blaine said was very positive.  At first, Kurt attributed it to the typical teenager griping about one’s parent, but the consistency of the complaints and the increasing severity of the criticism Blaine related—particularly about his mother—had Kurt reeling and often times conflicted.

_“I think my arms are going to fall off,” Blaine groaned from where his head rested against Kurt’s shoulder.  “I had to clean the entire first floor this weekend and the living room twice because I didn’t ‘dust hard enough’.  I absolutely did dust everything, and I’m pretty certain she only said that so I couldn’t see you yesterday.  She’s been impossible lately.”_

_“I expect you to present yourself as befitting of an Anderson,” Blaine mimicked in a higher register and in what Kurt assumed was an imitation of his mother’s voice.  “I forgot to wear cufflinks, Kurt.  It wasn’t the end of the world.  It’s not like she’s never had a hair out of place before.  She’s such a hypocrite.”_

_“She kept making all these faces throughout dinner.  If she wanted something specific, she should have just told me.  I can’t read minds.  She’s the one who said I should be eating healthier.  ...She could afford to lose some weight herself anyway.”_

The last part was mumbled; however, Kurt caught it anyway and was fairly shocked—not entirely with the words themselves, but the bitterness in which they were spoken.

Blaine was not a vicious person.  This was the same teen who called Sandy Ryerson a ‘really horrible person’, which was, as far as insults go, pretty lame and probably the meanest thing Blaine could think of.

Because Blaine wasn’t mean by nature either.  He was sincere and considerate, never judgmental, and always looked for the good in people.  That wasn’t to say that Blaine never got angry or that they never argued about the pettiest of things.  It was just difficult to reconcile that this resentful person Blaine transformed into whenever a topic concerning his mother came up was the same person who hugged him at any given opportunity and listened attentively whenever he had a particularly bad day at school.  Kurt just couldn’t comprehend why Blaine had so many hateful things to say about his mom when it was his father who tried to make him straight and who, ultimately, left them. 

Nevertheless, Kurt strove to be understanding no matter how tiresome it was becoming and listened without censure while Blaine vented to his heart’s content.  It all came to a head, however, one afternoon when he had been bemoaning the fact that Carole had ruined one of his designer pieces by throwing it into the wash.

“Do you have any idea how much money I spent on this sweater?  How long it took me to save up to even buy it?”  Kurt stared morosely at the top he held that was now spotted white than its previous solid-colored aquamarine.  “It was a one-of-a-kind.  They don’t make these anymore.”

“I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose,” Blaine reasoned from Kurt’s desk chair, “and she must feel terrible.”

Kurt stopped his pacing with a sigh.  “She was and she apologized—”

“There, you see,” Blaine pointed out.  “You shouldn’t be so hard on her.”

Kurt frowned and turned his attention over to Blaine who was watching him magnanimously.  “That’s very generous of you, considering.”

Blaine’s expression took on a surprised then wary look.  “What do you mean?”

Kurt’s frown deepened.  “Considering all you have to say about your mother, the one time I’m feeling a little frustrated and wanting to discuss it, I think you coming to Carole’s defense so quickly rather unfair.  Why is it that I can’t complain about Carole, while you can about your mom?”

They stared at each other for a moment both not speaking.  Kurt’s stance was defiant and Blaine shifted uncomfortably from his seat.  “Well.”  Blaine drew out slowly as if choosing his words carefully.  “Carole’s...great.  She really cares about you, Kurt.  I just think you should cut her some slack.”

“I could say the same about your mom, Blaine,” Kurt argued back.  “She may have you do some chores, or ask that you study harder, or make you attend boring charity events, but it doesn’t cast her as the tyrant you paint her to be.  She’s your **_mother_** , Blaine.”

“Yes, but.”  Blaine paused, eyes falling to the floor briefly, before he inhaled an unsteady breath and started again.  “Kurt, about my mom—”

Kurt shook his head vigorously as he slashed his hand across the air and cut him off.  "No.  I don’t want to hear it, Blaine.  I’m getting pretty tired of hearing you complain about your mom all the time.  Some of the things you say...I just.  I don't **_get_** it.  I would give anything to have my mom around and you just...”  Kurt felt his eyes starting to grow hot and turned his back to the other in an attempt to compose himself.  He blinked several times before speaking again.  “I want to believe that even if my mom sometimes made me do things that I didn’t like, I wouldn’t talk about her the way you have.  Obviously, I can’t know that for certain, but...Your mom stayed after all, didn’t she?  After your dad left?  That has to mean something to you.  I don’t...why can’t you see how lucky you are?  So lucky to have a mother who’s alive and who cares about you enough to be what you deem ‘awful’ to you.”

The question lingered in the heavy-laden silence that followed Kurt’s outburst and he found his fingers tangling more tightly around the sweater he held as he waited for Blaine to say something.

Blaine was quiet for some time and when he finally spoke, his voice was to some extent remorseful, but mostly resign; it startled Kurt enough to turn back around to face him.

"You're right," Blaine said eyes focused on his hands.  "I shouldn't sound so ungrateful.  My mother provides for me, lets me go to Dalton despite it being so expensive, and all she asks is that I get good grades and live up to my potential.  I...I shouldn't have said all those things."

The words sounded rehearsed and frighteningly hollow, but before Kurt could say anything else, Blaine was standing and grabbing his bag.  "It's my turn to make dinner tonight.  I should get going." He leaned over and kissed Kurt lightly on the cheek.  The motion was cool and distant despite the intimacy of it and unease settled heavily in Kurt’s stomach.

"Blaine—"

"I'll see you tomorrow," Blaine cut him off, a shadow of a smile on his face before turning to leave.

Kurt watched him go not regretting what he said exactly, but all the same knowing he said something incredibly wrong.

oOo

Blaine never talked about his parents.  But with Kurt, he thought maybe he could.

Blaine closed the front door behind him, his fingers clamped tightly around the strap of his bag at the darkness of the house that greeted him.  He stood there for a few seconds longer before relaxing his stance.  He toed off his shoes, placing them beside the door and walked further into the house.  He flicked on the kitchen lights, eyes zeroing in on the lone piece of paper that rested on the kitchen island and made his way across the ceramic tiled floor to it.

At a PETA function tonight.

Blaine stared at the note a moment longer, hand reaching up to loosen the tie around his neck before moving to place his messenger bag on the floor beside the kitchen table.

_“Do_ **not** _put your filthy bag there, Blaine.  We sit there to_ **eat** _.  Do you have any sense at all?”_

He removed his jacket and placed it behind one of the kitchen chairs.  His eyes then slowly scanned the room as if seeing it for the first time, but for what reason, he didn’t know.  Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

_“You have a very intelligent young man here, Janice,” Mr. Camden, an executive of Bankers Trust, said with his hand on Blaine’s shoulder.  “And such a gentlemen.  He’ll be breaking hearts soon enough.”_

_Blaine looked at his mother expectantly absolutely glowing from Mr. Camden’s praise._

_Janice directed a serene smile to the elder man before sliding her attention to her son.  “Sooner than you think, Harold,” Janice replied her gaze icy and her smile strained in a way that only Blaine could tell.  Blood roared in Blaine’s ears and he ducked his head in what he hoped Mr. Camden would interpret as him being modest._

_“Blaine, be a dear and fetch Harold another glass of scotch.”_

_Blaine swallowed past the lump in his throat before nodding his head in assent.  “Yes, ma’am.”_

Blaine made his way over to the refrigerator, pulled the door open, and knelt down to pull a bag of tomatoes and peppers out of the crisper and a tray of mushrooms from the lower shelf.  He carried the vegetables to the sink to rinse them off before depositing them beside the stove.  He then turned around to pull a large pot and saucepan hanging above the kitchen island.

_"I don't care if you can't reach them.  I won't have you reorganizing my kitchen to suit your needs.  Get the stepping stool from the pantry.  If you have to inherit something from Grant, I hope to God it's his height and that you get it soon.  Just thinking of the mess you made of the library is giving me a headache."_

He placed the saucepan on the stove before taking the pot to the sink to fill with water.  Setting the pot on high heat, he returned to the sink to retrieve a knife and cutting board from the dish rack.

_"It wouldn't kill you to eat more vegetables, Blaine.  With all the garbage you put into your body, it's no wonder you look the way you do."_

Blaine chopped the tomatoes with meticulous precision before starting on the peppers and mushrooms.  Once he was done, he poured some olive oil into the saucepan and turned on the flame to the medium setting.  He waited for the oil to heat up on the pan before pouring in the chopped and minced vegetables.  He added in a little white wine, corn starch, and several other spices before stirring it all in slow, but deliberate strokes.

_Blaine looked anxiously as his mother took a bite of her pasta only to cringe when she brought her napkin to her lips to spit it out._

_"Salty.  Incredibly salty," was all she said and Blaine tried his best not to shrink away from the criticism knowing slouching at the dinner table was the pinnacle of rudeness._

_His mother sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in obvious frustration.  "I ask you to do one thing, Blaine."_

_Blaine lowered his eyes to his lap, clenched his fingers tightly into fists, but was careful not to wrinkle his khaki pants in the process.  “I’m sorry,” he said._

_“An apology won’t fix this, Blaine.” Janice stood up from the table with her plate in hand.  Blaine watched as she walked over to the trash can and dumped the food into it.  “If you can’t do something right the first time, why bother at all?” she asserted eyes fixed on her son and Blaine held her gaze._

_“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, voice clear and unwavering.  Only when she turned her back to him and left the room did Blaine drop his eyes to his plateful of pasta.  He pushed it angrily to the center of the table and tried to ignore how his vision blurred._

The doorbell rang as he was emptying the box of pasta into the boiling pot of water and he quickly lowered the heat on all burners before walking to the front of the house.

_“Would you stop stampeding to the front door like a wild animal?  He’s not coming back, Blaine, and we both know the reason why he’s not.”_

Blaine looked through the peephole and experienced mixed feelings when he saw who was on the other side.  He hesitated, but when the doorbell rang again, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.  There was no sense in hiding anyway.  Kurt knew he was home.

_“You can’t just leave!” Janice shouted as she chased her husband to the front of the house.  Grant Cartwright pivoted until he faced both his wife and son; the latter of whom took refuge by the stair’s banister and still sported a number of bruises from the disaster that was the Sadie Hawkins dance._

_“I can, and I will.  And unless you fix him before he gets himself killed—because he certainly won’t listen to me—I won’t be a part of this family.”_

_“Dad,” Blaine pleaded taking a step towards his father, but Grant ignored him, turned around, and left the house._

“Hi,” Kurt greeted with a hesitant smile on his face.  Blaine stared back for some time before realizing he should probably respond back in kind.

“Hi,” he managed weakly and felt only slightly guilty when he saw how Kurt’s face fell.  Blaine was tired though.  Tired of everything, really.

“Can I come in?” Kurt asked shifting uncertainly from one foot to another and it was in that instant that Blaine realized what he was doing—or rather what he wasn’t doing—and he immediately took a step back to clear the entryway.

“ ** _Yes_**.  Yes, of course.  Sorry, I.  Please,” Blaine waved his hand for Kurt to come in.  Kurt did so, shooting him a worried look as he passed him that made Blaine cringe internally.  Blaine closed the door and locked it before turning around.

Kurt stood with his hands clasped together in front of him, an uncertain expression still painted across his features.  It wasn’t a look Blaine liked to see on Kurt—Kurt who was always so fierce and confident—and Blaine was pretty positive he was responsible for it.  He never intended to drag Kurt down and was about to apologize for his behavior when Kurt spoke up.  “I’m sorry for just showing up like this.  I...”  Kurt took a look around.  “Am I interrupting dinner with your mom?”

Blaine shook his head slowly from side to side.  “No, she’s at a charity event tonight.  Actually, I have some things on the stove.  I don’t want them to burn.  Do you mind...?”  Blaine inclined his head towards the kitchen and Kurt nodded before bending down to take off his shoes.  Blaine waited until he was done before they walked further into the house together.  As Kurt’s head swiveled back and forth to survey his surroundings, Blaine took a few calming breaths in an attempt to reign in his tumultuous emotions.

There was only one reason why Kurt was here, and Blaine wanted to bask in the warm feeling that came with the knowledge that his boyfriend recognized something was off and cared enough to come over to see him.

But it didn’t cancel out the hurt he also felt at the fact that Kurt wasn’t listening—didn’t **_want_** to listen to what he had to say.

Then again, maybe he wasn’t being fair to Kurt.  Maybe he had gone about this all wrong.  Should have just talked to Kurt rather than in the roundabout manner he had.

It was hard though trying to talk about something he hadn’t even fully admitted to himself.  Because who wanted to acknowledge the fact that their mother despised them and made certain to remind them of it every single day?  How it hurt more than his dad leaving ever did because at least his dad’s abandonment was finite.

It didn’t matter now anyway.  Blaine didn’t want to talk about it anymore—didn’t know why he was going to in the first place.

_“Mom?”_

_Janice furiously wiped her eyes from where she sat on the hardwood floor.  Blaine knelt down to the ground the slamming of the front door still echoing loudly in his ears.  He crawled the last few feet towards her, but stopped when she turned the full force of her glare upon him.  Blaine sat back on his heels and hiccupped._

_“Mom—”_

_“Why couldn’t you be normal, Blaine?” she hissed and Blaine flinched as if he were slapped, his butt falling to the floor and his palms pressed on either side of his body.  Janice bowed her head; her nails scraped against the floor.  “Why couldn’t you just be_ **normal** _?”_

Because talking wasn’t going to make his mother love him.

_“I’m not going to let this ruin me.  I don’t need his fucking name.  He’ll be the homophobic Neanderthal who abandoned his wife and child and I’ll be the mother who accepted her son wholeheartedly.”  Janice picked herself off the ground, swiped the last remnants of tears off her face, and spared one last look at Blaine before walking away._

_Blaine choked back a sob tears dripping down his face.  "Mo—”_

_“Go do your homework,” Janice snapped.  “And stop crying.  It’s no wonder your father left.”_

And nothing ever would.

oOo

“Your house is really nice,” Kurt commented as they walked down the hall, eyes taking in everything around him before falling back on Blaine.  Blaine met his eyes briefly, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah,” he said simply before breaking away to head over to the stove.  “Thanks.”

Kurt felt it then as Blaine walked away.  The metaphorical distance Blaine was putting between them and knew for certain now that he had done something irrefutably wrong.  What exactly though, he wasn’t sure.

He wasn’t able to let go of the anxiety he felt after Blaine left his house today.  It was what prompted him to come over and weather through the argument he had with his dad when he told him where he was going and on a school night no less.

Kurt watched as Blaine rotated the stove knobs until flames were visible beneath the pot and pan resting on the stove.  His eyes then wandered to the piece of stationary that rested on the otherwise immaculate table he was leaning against.

Kurt stared for a long time at the note then at Blaine's back.  She didn't sign it.  His father always signed his notes to him.  A simple "Dad" and when it was nearing the anniversary of his mom's death, a "Love, Dad."  Kurt didn’t know why this struck him so deeply—didn’t understand why the longer he stared the more anxious he grew.

He was overanalyzing.  Blaine’s mom not signing a note didn’t have to **_mean_** anything.

_“It’s just.  It’s never good enough for her.”_

I’m never good enough for her.

_“Oh.” Blaine averted his attention back to the television, but not before Kurt caught how Blaine’s expression fell upon hearing his question.  “She said I didn’t have to go.  That it was just some silly award for her and there wouldn’t be anyone I could talk to anyway.” Blaine shrugged his shoulders.  “So, why ruin my evening?”_

She didn’t want me to go—didn’t want me to ruin her evening.

Kurt took another long look around the house.  No photographs lined the walls or the fireplace mantel not like Kurt’s house which was full of them and even more so when Finn and Carole moved in.  There were no lingering scents of perfumes or air fresheners unlike the greasy garage smell his father took home from work and the floral candles Carole liked to burn in the family room.  There were no personal touches anywhere that could lead anyone to believe someone lived here (Finn took to leaving his football gear by the garage door and Carole’s knitting materials sat in a basket beside the family room couch).  Everything was so pristine, so perfect.

So cold.

"Did you want to stay for dinner?" Blaine asked in a brighter voice than he had all evening and it pulled Kurt out of his thoughts.  Kurt didn’t respond.  Instead, he made his way around the island until he stood just a few feet behind his boyfriend.

"Blaine?"

Blaine twisted his head around to look at Kurt.  Blaine looked tired and a little wary, but still managed to form a faint smile as he replied, “Yes?”

Kurt didn’t ever want Blaine to look at him like that, to ever feel afraid to talk to him.  Kurt took a step closer to Blaine, spun him gently around and took hold of the spoon he held in his hand.  He placed it on a cloth towel on the counter before laying his hand on Blaine’s left shoulder.  "Tell me."

Blaine's brow furrowed.  "What?"

Kurt wasn't having it and placed his other hand on Blaine's other shoulder.  "You were going to tell me something today,” he clarified.  “In my room.  Tell me now."

The creases in Blaine's forehead smoothed out and his shoulders tensed as he pulled away and backed himself into the counter.  "No."

Kurt faltered at the unexpected and vehement rebuff.  He reached out to Blaine only to have the other shrug away his touch.  Kurt pulled his hand back clearly hurt.  "Blaine..."

"You don't want to hear it," Blaine hissed; his eyes narrowed.  "No one ever does.  No one ever wants to **_see_**." Blaine's breath came out harsher and his hands vibrated from where they were braced on the counter behind him.  "It doesn't matter," Blaine said his eyes and voice lowering as if he were talking to himself.  "I only have a year left.  It won't matter then.  It's just a year.  I can get scholarships.  I won't have to.  I don’t need her to car—" Blaine snapped his mouth shut effectively damming the flood of words.  He closed his eyes and didn't say anything else.  Kurt watched with wide eyes as Blaine inhaled a deep breath before straightening his back and looking him directly in the eyes.  Kurt swallowed uncomfortably at the determination that settled across Blaine's shoulders, the easy smile that spread across his face.

"Did you want to stay for dinner?" Blaine asked again and Kurt felt completely lost.

"Blaine..."

Blaine turned around, picked up the wooden spoon and began stirring the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove.  "It's not as good as Carole's,” Blaine continued in a light tone, “but there's a little something extra I add in that I think adds a certain zest.  If you're good, I'll let you in on the secret."

Blaine's voice was teasing, but it only caused the tears that had been slowly building to spill over and down Kurt's face.  Kurt closed the space between them and hugged Blaine from behind.

"This is nice," Blaine murmured quietly after a minute, his hand stilling from its previous stirring.  He covered Kurt's hands with his left and squeezed them lightly before letting the limb fall back to his side.

“Blaine...”  Kurt choked out; trying to infuse into that one syllable how sorry he was for not listening and how he was listening now if only Blaine could trust him again.

"Okay," Blaine finally relented, voice soft.  "I’ll tell you." Kurt tensed in anticipation, arms automatically tightening around the other.

Blaine inhaled a single, shaky breath before saying, "I add a little rosemary.  Okay, so it's not very original, but it doesn't make it any less tasty."

Kurt stood momentarily shocked before he pressed his forehead against Blaine's neck tears falling more rapidly down the back of Blaine's white linen shirt.

"It's okay, Kurt," Blaine said after a while voice low and reassuring, but Kurt just shook his head.

"No," he whispered, "It's really, really not."

No, Blaine silently agreed, leaning back into Kurt's embrace and folding both his hands over Kurt's.  It wasn't.

And perhaps it wouldn’t ever be.


End file.
